


Rx for Vanishing Pants

by srsly_yes



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Friendship, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-17
Updated: 2010-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:02:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srsly_yes/pseuds/srsly_yes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilson keeps losing his pants at the oddest moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rx for Vanishing Pants

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning:** Worst medical mystery ever.  
> **Disclaimer:** Not mine, never will be.  
> **A/N:** For [](http://3rdgal12.livejournal.com/profile)[**3rdgal12**](http://3rdgal12.livejournal.com/) who wanted an expanded story to go with the [**collage**](http://srsly-yes.livejournal.com/119558.html) made for [](http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wilson/profile)[**Camp Sick!Wilson's**](http://community.livejournal.com/sick_wilson/) Collage Challenge.
> 
> This is the real reason why Wilson lost his pants in _Known Unknowns_ and underwent surgery in, _Wilson_.
> 
> Check out the fanart at the end of the story by brynnamorgan.

  
A staircase in a bell tower and a sultry blonde would make his vertigo complete. Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose, but the walls of his kitchen kept spinning. This simple remedy had worked dozens of times before, but not anymore. A rising tide of nausea filled his throat. He swayed to the side, overbalanced, and lost his footing. His arms windmilled in the air in an effort to break his fall, but a pair of strong hands caught him before he made impact with an appliance or the floor.

“Whoa there, Jetpack Jetson. Let’s get you to a landing pad before you tailspin and dive head first into a frying pan of bacon.”

“I’m fine, House.” Wilson tried to free himself, but he was still on a merry-go-round. Without House's support he'd tumble. Closing his eyes in the hopes of regaining his equilibrium, he felt fingers at his throat checking his pulse then move away. House roughly pulled him onto the sofa. When he opened his eyes the walls had rocked back onto their foundations.

“How long have you had phonexitis?” House asked. His eyes serious, but his lips twitching upwards at the corners.

Wilson mustered his dignity and ignored the cool air lapping over his legs. At least he was wearing his apron. He asked guilelessly, “Phonexitis? What are you talking about?”

“The disease you're trying to hide from me. I'd be blind not to notice your obsessive need to use phones, vertigo, and the number one hit parade symptom—the loss of trou. The new string pants you happily swished in not more than five minutes ago are gone. This is the third new pair this week, not to mention the underwear incident in the back garden last weekend. You’re losing it, Jimmy, losing control over your disease and your pants.”

His secret out, Wilson buried his face in his hands and babbled, “I learned to work around the symptoms. At first I was light-headed. All I had to do was pinch the bridge of my nose." He huffed a sigh. "Then my pants started falling off. While I nose-pinched with one hand, I gripped the pocket lining with the other so no one knew what I was doing. Sweater vests were a godsend. I could wear suspenders under them, but even that didn’t help for long. My pants simply disappeared. Vanished. Keeping extra slacks in my office became a necessity. I staved off disaster more than once, but since the pharmaceutical conference the attacks hit with no warning. My pants are gone before I know it. In the last couple of days my underwear began disappearing.”

“House curtly nodded, showing no surprise. “I noticed you sewed up the flies in your boxer briefs. You’re stage four, Jimmy.”

“It’s a very rare disease. There's only one article in JAMA from the early nineties focusing on the case of a suspected serial mooner who was diagnosed with phonexitis. How did you hear about it?”

“The night janitor has a mild case. He doesn’t wear his pants backwards on purpose. They reverse on him.”

Wilson shook his head. “I’m turning in my resignation to Cuddy first thing this morning.”

“Afraid you’re gonna keel over naked onto one of your bald kids? Don’t be hasty, Wilson.” House lowered his voice and mumbled something.

“What did you say?”

“I thought up a way to help you. Your problem is caused by your liver secreting too much bile and throwing your body out of whack. One out of ten million people have sensitive livers that can be overstimulated by prolonged exposure to cell phones and pagers. As a doctor, you get doses from both. Remove the right lobe, limit your cell phone use, wear skirts, and you’ll be fine.”

Wilson felt a mix of astonishment and relief. “I get my life back. I love you, House, but about the skirts…”

“Wishful thinking on my part. If you keep wearing pants, then I sleep alone.”

“I could start with kilts.”

* * *

  
**Click on preview to see full image of [](http://brynnamorgan.livejournal.com/profile)[**brynnamorgan**](http://brynnamorgan.livejournal.com/)'s awesome fanart.**   
[Comments about her fanart can be left here.](http://brynnamorgan.livejournal.com/61482.html)   
[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/brynnamorgan/pic/000a2g85)   
**click to enlarge collage**   
[   
](http://pics.livejournal.com/srsly_yes/pic/00040k2x)


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